


The Other

by credencebvrebxne



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-04
Updated: 2017-03-04
Packaged: 2018-09-28 04:51:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10072658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/credencebvrebxne/pseuds/credencebvrebxne
Summary: a piece i wrote about an abusive relationship





	

> She had too much so with a smile you took some.

The first thing you noticed about her was the way she smiled. It wasn’t her coppery skin, the way she tossed her sheet of black hair over her shoulder, or even the way it would fall loosely onto your desk, obscuring your possessions in a shroud of shiny, mango scented darkness. Her smile lit up the room in a way that made you think of sunshine; it was warm and welcoming. But that isn’t what drew you to her. Her smile was genuine, pure, and even though it was beautiful, the sincerity was what kept you captivated. It was all you weren’t. It was all you lost, and you would give everything- ANYTHING to have again. It was an addiction and it was something you simply had to have. Something you couldn’t go another day without. And she had far too much for her own good- surely she wouldn’t notice if you took some of your own- because after all, you needed it more than she did. Right? That late August- of your senior year- was where she had made her entrance and when you made the decision to redress karma.

> Of everything she had you had absolutely nothing. So you took some. At first, just a little

She made it far too easy, and she herself was far too addicting. It was the sweetest drug you could take. The pot never took off the edge this well, and she was the only thing that kept you clinging to this stupid world any longer. She was a substance new, just for you to use and abuse all on your own. She was more than all the other girls. She was an outlet, personal punching bag. An innocent, just like you once were. And innocent she was. But you would help her out. You knew, once she really got out into the world that the world would destroy her, break her, damage the perfect soul she attached to her sleeve. So you figured, it would be best for her to get it over with now. This was justice wasn’t it? It was better, hell, it was mercy, you would tell yourself. And she would thank you for it later, you assured yourself. You promised yourself long ago that you'd never lay a hand on a woman- that you'd make sure that your relationships were healthy and pure. A whole year has passed. You waited patiently, watching her thoughtfully cycle through boys her age- on her par. And finally, after a full year, she had stumbled into your trap, and you clung to her like you'd never see that smile again.

> Still she had so much she made you feel > Your vacuum, which nature abhorred,

Hope, dreams, innocence, faith. Everything that had been ripped away from you just resonated in her, and it was cruel. You had gotten here merely a year ago- and a year passed and she still stands. It was as if she was shoving all of it down your throat, making it a hateful reminder of all she still had. You were convinced, yes, that you needed more. That she needed less, and that taking more would only fix this egregious injustice done to you. Because even after a year, she still stood tall, shivering but stronger than ever. Even after months, she would not break. Psychologically troubling- even when she suffered she remained steady. After every time you had thrown a fit, fists raised and hailing down on her fragile figure. After she covered every bruise with a thoughtful piece of clothing or a redirected concern. How was she still smiling? Why was she still so much stronger than you ever were? Despite everything you took, despite all you did, she refused to bend in the slightest. And this rattled you. Your confusion tasted bitter and evolved into anger. How could someone so little have so much? But your discouragement is not because she isn’t broken, but because she was unfairly given advantages that you never received, ever. Her brain allows her to be more than you could ever hope. You know if you take more, all she has to do is use that ridiculous IQ to compensate. And really, that should be okay. Shouldn’t it?

> So you took your fill, for nature’s sake. > Because her great luck made you feel unlucky

Sometimes you can’t tell If she’s just tired, or if you’re taking too much. With the new year approaching, and your first anniversary under your belt, you finally questioned the impact of your actions. The dark circles under her eyes could be from exhaustion, it could be where you lost your patience. Not that you meant to of course. She was rambling on and on about some serial killer or another, and you didn’t want to hear about it. You just wanted quiet. Why couldn’t she understand? You smack her lightly, admonishing her like a dog. She goes quiet and you finally get what you want. But it doesn’t make you feel any better. She doesn’t say another word for the next few hours. You scrutinize her face. Was she getting paler? Thinner? Maybe it was the lighting. Which of course it is. The purplish circles under her eyes make her look smaller than she was, if that was possible, and you attribute it to exhaustion. After all, she had a busy schedule to tend to. You found a way to justify every blemish or abrasion- pushing aside the restless inkling that all your taking had left an irreplaceable scar.

> You had redressed the balance, which meant > Now you had some too, for yourself.

It was February and it was beautiful. You soared above the clouds, immune to anything and everything. You feel better now than you have in years. You feel happy. You feel energized. You feel alive. You don’t know what sparked this rejuvenating sense of self, but you thank whatever deity had your name in his or her graces. You don’t notice the bruises scattering her thighs and forearms, hidden under her shirt and skirt. You miss the swollen lip and worn smile. You don’t see her nails, chewed to the quick and you don’t see the light fading from her eyes every time she forces a smile. You don’t see her dying every time you reach to unclasp her bra, and you never notice her pushing you away rather than pulling you close. She dances, she falls, you say. She’s tired, she’s exhausted. She wants you, she just doesn’t know it yet. You were on top of the world. You knew what you wanted to do in life, and you had someone who loved you for who you are. So why did everything feel so wrong?

> As seemed only fair. Still her ambition > Claimed the natural right to screw you up > Like a crossed-out page, tossed into a basket.

God hated you from the start. You knew it, deep down. But it wasn’t that fact that got you irritated. It was her. Her ambitious mind and all too obvious drive to run away, it had to be dealt with. What was wrong with here? Clearly everything, she would say. You had given her everything, the world, and all she could ever talk about was how amazing it would be to pick up and leave. Well. You can’t let that happen now can you? You know just how to straighten her out, get her feet on the ground once more. You know that once she pushes all these silly dreams and fantasies aside, the two of you can have the future both of you always dreamed of. The two of you were nearing a second anniversary, less than 3/4 of a year away. And she was already ready to leave? You. Can't. Have. That. No. She was all you've ever had- the closest to pure and the imperfect idol you needed to take down a notch. You couldn't stand not having someone to infuse with your anger and your abundant insecurities.

> Somebody, on behalf of the gods, > Had to correct that hubris.

It was up to you, you decided, to correct this horrid idea she had. Someone had to fix her selfishness, guide her to the greater good. And you know you can’t simply wait around for somebody to take action. So you do. You don’t like hitting her. But she needs to understand the only way out of this is in a coffin, like she said a year and a half ago. She promised you that. She promised you herself. And breaking a promise is horribly selfish of a person is it not? You can’t remember when this little girl turned into such a horrible self absorbed brat, but you know that it isn’t hard to correct. Part of you wonders though. Are you making things right? Or are you simply trying to make her feel as bad as you did. You can't remember when the purity fell away and left this apathetic shell of a girl. Of a child, almost. Shaking the though from your mind, you assuage your guilt. You're not a pedophile. She was 16. It wasn't like you were trolling playgrounds looking for children, preying upon their vulnerable sensibilities.

> A little touch of hatred steadied the nerves.

She was crying in the corner again, curled up into a ball. Your hands are red, and you wonder for the first time in nearly two years, maybe you had gone too far. Blood pours out of her nose and you can hear a faint hiccuping as you watch her pull her knees to her chest. Her shirt had ripped from the neck and fingerprint like bruises appeared on her neck, standing out, ugly, against pale skin. Her skirt was torn, somewhere across the room. She was bleeding, heavily. You had hit her for that- as if it was in her control. As if she could stop blood from seeping out as you violently pushed into her, hand tangled in her hair, other hand gripping her throat as she chokes, sputtering and grasping for a clean fresh breath of air. You pushed yourself off of her, so you were crouching over her, eyes mean and hands tight. You remind her that telling anyone would result in loss of life. Her life, to be absolutely specific.

> Everything she had won, the happiness of it, > You collected

You were quite dismayed. The past few months, the end of your second summer and the beginning of the school year held to be trying times- mostly for her- but by association, for you as well. You had the entire game layer out. You bullied her into obedience. You bullied her into compliance and fear. The idea that she'd be broken, dead, lost, was implicated by her soulless smile and her empty eyes. Maybe you had seen this coming- but you merely chose not to pay any mind to a hurting girl with a broken body. School started in several weeks. It was her senior year. It was your junior year in college- which was hours away. And you studied- practicing to be a lawyer and trying to forget about whatever happened on weekends you went home. You were ruthlessly faithful. And by ruthlessly faithful, you mean making sure SHE never saw anyone again. You're not even sure if you WERE surprised by her cracking- and maybe you had known all along that she'd fall away and her body would give up. Maybe you just chose not to see just how desperate she was for a clean, painless escape from this wickedly complex labyrinth you had built to preserve the relationship over the past two years.

 > As your compensation > For having lost. Which left her absolutely Nothing

A little over two years, she had proven to still have some fight left in her. In a particular instance, you had slammed her up against your wall again, and instead of cowering in fear and obedience- she, for once in a great while, made eye contact with you. And in this brief moment- you saw everything you thought you had taken away. Her fearless soul was not giving up yet. So you plot. And you plot away- in an attempt to chip away at her resilience and uncanny knack for self preservation under times of great criticism. And she doesn't break for nearly two months. It wasn't until the middle of her third quarter that you took the kill shot. Her routine hospitalization was continued proof that her patience and strength was weathering. She had fought so hard to keep ahead and to balance out her inconsistencies. This made you relentless and even angrier- cursing her good faith and fortune. Why couldn't you be like that? You would often ask yourself what she had that you didn't- but you could never find a concrete answer to justify your inner shame and complacency.

> Even her life was > Trapped in the heap you took. She had nothing.

She was definitely different now. You could tell simply from her smile. What was once full of innocence and hope became a ghost of forced sincerity. You noticed she doesn’t smile as much anymore either. You know it was you. You know you took too much, and you know that it’s your fault she’s trapped in this vicious heap of false pretenses. You swallow your guilt as you observe the shell of the girl you admired two and a half years ago in World History class. Surely they’re not the same person. Part of this pleases you- you knew that if you dug deep into it- that she was not invincible. Another part of you felt deep shame for driving a sixteen year old to her third suicide attempt. You wondered for days what she was doing at that residential home. You wrote letters faithfully, praying that she wouldn't tell anyone about the stormy conditions of your relationship. This place was different from the other hospitals. You knew that she wasn't coming back home for quite a while. And for some reason- instead of being comforted by the fact that she wouldn't be around for you to have to control, you steadily missed her more every passing evening that you did t have somebody to release your anger towards.

> Too late you saw what had happened. > It made no difference that she was dead.

They sent her away. And you know it was partially your fault, but you feel no guilt. Besides, by the time you actually noticed it was too late, you were sure of that. She had been dead long before you knew that you had been taking too much. You don’t worry about that. All you can worry about is whether or not she plans on telling anyone what made her a shell in the first place. For the first time in this debacle, you feel guilt. But not for killing her. Just for the potential of getting caught. And for the first time in two years, you are lost. Unsure of what to do without your punching bag, you write. Letters of love, promises, and kindness you never showed her in person, you hope that maybe your handwriting can convince her to keep her fat mouth shut. It does. Nobody suspects for a minute that you were anything but kind to her. This is a perverse pleasure- as only the two of you know the greatest extent of damage. And she knows way better than to tell someone that she had been with someone who she wasn't meant for.

> Now that you had all she had ever had > You had much too much.

She comes back differently. Aloof. Stronger. All her bruises have healed and you have half an impulse to ask if anyone noticed. You don’t. She seems detached, and this worries you. You remind her, casually, that you can have her sent back in an instant. The fear that fills her face is sickeningly welcoming. You swallow your disgust and she turns away. She still doesn’t understand. You’re doing it for the both of you. To ensure your future together. You propose later that month. Now she’ll never leave. She can't. Marriages are strong and this will make everything seem better. Gone are the days of violence, drunk binges, and forcing yourself onto her in her sleep. Gone are the tears and the begging, the relentless hiccups as she sobs softly into the ground as you take her from behind. She is harder now- a sell grown over her, preventing her from being so easily victimized. Her heart swells and her instincts are strong. Nothing can stop that innate need to fly away and find freedom.

> Only you > Saw her smile, as she took some.

She was 18 years, 3 months, and 21 days old when she finally left. You ranted, you raged, you threatened to put a bullet through your brain. But nothing could sway her, and through your fit, you fleetingly wonder where this newfound confidence had come from. You refuse to be consoled, and even though you know it’s childish, you give her the ultimatum. The two of you as endgame, or your life. You were so positive that she would choose you. She never once had the idea to stand up for herself, and you're still not quite sure where that idea comes from now, anyways. She was such a good little puppet- so easy to walk over and ignore. You underestimated just how vindictive and vicious she could be. And this is a fatal mistake. She does the unexpected and follows herself through. You’re surprised, as you were sure you took all of what she had, confidence included. But your surprise is masked by your pain as she leaves. And you’re pretty damn sure when she does, she takes a bit of herself back.

> At first, just a little.


End file.
